


Meddlesome Ministers Of Misinformation

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8066890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: A diplomatic mission goes up in smoke. Set in Season 3. (02/17/2004)





	1. The Impetuous Impending

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Well, this one is a little different. The story revolves around a first contact mission set after some months in the Expanse. It starts out from the aliens' point-of-view, then, after a reasonably unexpected twist, it meanders back to Enterprise, before finally concluding with the original aliens. As the title suggests, there appears to be some confusion regarding a variety of customs.  


* * *

Foreign Secretary Pelgrath glanced at his watch and worried aloud.

"Where is that fool?"

He took another nervous puff before, at last, he heard footsteps in the hall.

He stiffened immediately, and leaning forward, he quickly extinguished his kretek and fanned the air with his hand, then he placed the ash tray in his top desk drawer and slammed it shut. Suddenly, the door to his office burst open.

"Branmal! What is all this nonsense I hear about- ?"

Prime Minister Signost stopped and sniffed.

"Have you been smoking again, Branmal?"

"If you must know," Pelgrath said. "Yes. But I have good reason."

Signost shook his head and looked at him pitifully.

"Your health, Bran!" he chastised. "Those things are dangerous, you know!"

"We don't have time to talk about my addictions, Relin," he scowled. "The Humans have just entered our system, and they will be here any minute!"

"Why wasn't I told about this sooner?" Signost demanded.

"You were told, Mr. Prime Minister!" Pelgrath scoffed. "We sat in this very office less than two days ago! I said, 'Relin, we have been contacted by a new species who wishes to sell us dilithium.' You said, 'Splendid, Branmal!', and then you went into a rant about the Guilly Tax issue and did not stop talking for twenty minutes!"

The Prime Minister turned his back and crossed his arms.

"Do you have any idea just how important that piece of legislation is?" he gruffed.

Pelgrath slumped and hung his head.

"It is meaningless," he mumbled.

"Meaningless?" Signost spat. He spun around and dramatically slammed his hands down on the Secretary's desk.

"Are you insane?"

Branmal closed his eyes for a moment and composed his thoughts. Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke in a calm and clear voice.

"If we have no dilithium," he quietly explained, "then our ships do not fly. If our ships do not fly, then we cannot deliver our Guillys to Vinopera. If we cannot deliver our Guillys to Vinopera, then our merchants do not get paid. And if our merchants do not get paid, Mr. Prime Minister, you will have nothing to tax!"

Relin's face turned gray, and he sat down heavily in the large ornamental chair next to Pelgrath's desk.

"How much?" he asked. "How much is left?"

Branmal shook his head and sighed.

"I don't know," he said, fumbling with his pen. "Nine months...A year, at most."

"A year..." Signost moaned.

The Prime Minister wallowed for a few more moments, then he sat up straight and pulled himself together.

"I suppose you'd better tell me about these Humins, then," he said calmly.

"How much dilithium do they have to trade, and what do they want in exchange?"

Pelgrath looked at his watch again and exhaled sharply. "I don't know, and I don't know," he grimaced. "I'm sure we'll find out later. As for the aliens, themselves...We don't have time to go into every detail, but perhaps we can get through the basics."

"You have my full attention, Mr. Secretary!" Relin beamed.

Pelgrath gave the Prime Minister a wary glance and thanked him sarcastically, then he leaned across his desk and turned his monitor.

"First," he pointed. "They are 'Humans', not 'Humins'. Secondly, they are somewhat of a warrior race. Thirdly, they are easily offended. And fourthly, they are—"

A tone sounded, and a voice came over the intercom.

"Mr. Secretary, the Humans have just entered orbit, and they are requesting the landing coordinates. Shall I patch them through?"

Pelgrath removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and Signost carefully eased his chair away from the desk. The Foreign Secretary noticed and shook his head, but the Prime Minister was busy examining his fingernails. Finally, Pelgrath reached and pressed the button.

"No, Alvina," he said. "Contact Undersecretary Shilla and tell him that they're here. He knows what to do...and, ahh, tell him to...take his- Just tell him to stall a bit, would you?"

"Yes, Mr. Secretary."

Signost quickly completed his study, then he leaned forward in his chair and looked closely at Pelgrath.

"Bran," he asked quietly. "Are you sure that Shilla is...qualified to handle such an important task?"

Pelgrath rolled his eyes.

"Deen is the most qualified," he declared. "Where do you think I got my information?"

"Ah, I see," said Signost, rubbing his hands together. "Please go on...I believe you were up to point number four?"

Pelgrath petted the latch of his top desk drawer for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued.

"Yes, well," he coughed. "Fourthly, they are a matriarchal society, and their supreme leader holds the title of 'Commander'. Not only that, they seem to still employ some kind of caste system, whereby certain races are more...privileged than others."

"Barbaric!" Relin spat. "How on Lius did they ever manage to develop space travel?"

"I have no idea," Branmal mused. "But regardless, they did, and they're here, and they have a surplus of dilithium...So the establishment of friendly relations with them is- Well, it's nothing short of critical."

The Prime Minister nodded his understanding.

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Oh, there's plenty," Pelgrath rolled. "We simply do not have time to go over it all. We have to get ready for the dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yes," he grimaced. "It was one of their...requests. They appear to have some unusual customs regarding first contact with other species."

Suddenly, there was a quick knock at the door. It opened, and Shilla leaned inside.

"Gentlemen," he gestured. "Please. They'll be here any minute."

As they walked quickly down the hallway, the Undersecretary filled them in on some last minute details.

"Did he tell you that they have a matriarchy?"

"Yes."

"Well, our intelligence report states that their leaders rarely speak to outsiders. They leave that particular task to some subordinate male, while they sit back and quietly observe."

"Who do I talk to, then?" Signost asked.

"You simply address whomever is addressing you," Shilla explained. "I imagine that most of the negotiations will be conducted by the male, a captain I believe...I've spoken to him already, and he seems like a decent enough fellow, but be warned..."

"What?"

The Undersecretary stopped short and paused at the banquet hall doors.

"They can change at any minute," he whispered. "Reports suggest that their mood swings are quite...nasty."

Pelgrath exchanged a wary glance with the Prime Minister.

"We'll do everything within our power to appease them," Relin said. "Rest assured."

Shilla nodded and took a deep breath.

"I have prepared some...cultural events...to make them feel more at home," he said. "We don't have time to go over them, but I will coach you as best as I am able."

Deen opened the banquet doors and quickly stepped inside.

"Good man you've got there, Branmal!"

"What did I tell you?"


	2. Delusions Of Dinner Divine

Foreign Secretary Pelgrath and Prime Minister Signost stood nervously inside the banquet hall in front of the grand outer doors.

"How's my tie, Bran?" Relin asked.

Pelgrath looked, scowled, then adjusted it for him.

The room was elegantly decorated in preparation for the guests. The green curtains hung with dignity, and the columns were wound with the same stately fabric. Gilded portraits adorned the eggshell walls, and they were lighted appropriately. Honor guards stood attentively at all of the entrances, armed with ceremonial swords and dressed in matching green tunics.

Next to a large empty area, two long tables ran parallel to each other, and they were accompanied by ornately carved chairs. The seats were covered in the same stately green cloth that draped the tables, which, themselves, were handsomely set with the finest crystal and porcelain dinnerware. Candelabras mingled throughout, glowing in anticipation.

After a few moments, the doors swung wide, and Deen led the Humans into the room. He bowed to his superiors, then he turned for the introductions.

"Sirs, this is Ensign Sato and Captain Archer," he said graciously. "And this is Sub-commander T'Pol."

The three Humans flattened their flowing white robes, and they bowed politely.

"Honoured guests," Shilla continued. "This is Foreign Secretary Pelgrath and Prime Minister Signost."

The two bowed stiffly, then the Prime Minster stepped forward and offered his hand to the ensign.

"Welcome!" he smiled broadly.

He offered the same to the captain, then he addressed T'Pol.

"Welcome, Sub-commander!" he gushed. "The people of Lius are honoured!"

He bowed again, and she nodded in response, then he motioned them towards the dining tables.

The Humans stood in front of their seats, with Archer in the middle and T'Pol to his right. The three diplomats walked to the opposite table, and the Prime Minister took center, with the Secretary to his left. After everyone was positioned, Archer cleared his throat.

"We are...pleased to receive your...hospitality," he began. "I would now...like to honor you with the traditional...greeting."

Archer glanced at a data pad for a moment, then he stood at attention. He raised his arms high, then he swooped and folded them across his chest, after which, he spun full-circle and bowed.

"Plea forta vin aptla nxal pun thrux!" he declared, then he continued his speech with a variety of pantomimes and awkward dance steps, his robe awash with motion.

Branmal leaned behind the Prime Minister and whispered.

"Deen, what is he saying?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Deen whispered back. "Just smile and nod."

They smiled and nodded, and the Prime Minister noticed and followed suit.

After a few minutes, Archer pounded his chest with each fist in succession, then he moved to the table and sharply smacked it three times with his hands, after which, he stepped back, clapped once, presented his palms, then deeply bowed, before finally returning to attention.

"Golish pel grund!" he finished.

The Liusians applauded diplomatically.

The Undersecretary gestured and encouraged everyone to take their seats, then he leaned and whispered to Pelgrath. The Secretary nodded, then he stood and spoke.

"To honour our distinguished guests and their venerable culture, the people of Lius have prepared a brief historical reenactment..."

He glanced down at the data pad, then he straightened and cleared his throat. Throwing back his head, he cupped his mouth and yelled towards the guard at the far door.

"Singe lillan von presti!" he bellowed.

The guard offered no response.

"Paul!" Deen whispered loudly, nodding his head towards the door.

The guard saluted smartly and opened it. Three Liusian women, dressed in black, marched into the room and executed some precision maneuvers with their ceremonial rifles. When they reached the large empty space adjacent to the two tables, the middle woman began singing and was joined directly by the other two, after which, they performed an emotional interpretive dance, harmonizing all the way.

Archer leaned towards Ensign Sato and whispered.

"What are they singing about, Hoshi?"

"I don't know, sir," she whispered back. "The universal translator can't seem to get a lock..."

"What do you think they're singing about?"

Hoshi adjusted her robe and frowned.

"I have no idea," she said. "It sounds kind of like..."

"What?"

"Well, it sounds kind of like...gibberish," she shrugged lightly. "The syntax, the conjugations...There's no pattern, at least none that makes any sense."

Archer looked at her, confused.

"I suppose we should just smile and nod, then," he whispered.

Hoshi and Archer smiled and nodded, and he nudged T'Pol. She looked at the two, then she also nodded.

The demonstration ended with some tumbling, followed by a primal scream from the center woman. Everyone applauded, and Deen got up and hurried towards the entrance to the kitchen. He opened the door, and the servers entered quickly, placing steaming plates before each of the delegates. The stewards then poured some wine and scurried away, after which, Branmal stood and lightly tapped his glass, bringing the room to attention.

"Distinguished guests," he began. "It is with honour and humility that I present to you our most cherished dish, Guilly ala Prime! The Guilly is a bird which thrives in the southern regions of our domain, and it is considered a delicacy throughout this sector of space. Highly prized for its succulence and delicate flavor, the Guilly is one of our main...exports. Please, enjoy!"

Pelgrath bowed, and he resumed his seat.

Captain Archer smiled and nodded, then he picked up his utensils and sampled his Guilly.

"Very good," he said. "Tastes like—"

T'Pol lightly tapped his knee, and he glanced over.

She looked at him, then down at her plate, then back up.

"Can't you make an exception?"

T'Pol stared.

"Just...do the best you can..."

She sighed slightly and adjusted her robe. She considered the foul fowl on her plate for a moment, then she carefully began dissecting it into small chunks, which she surreptitiously spread to the far corners. She then concealed the chunks beneath something leafy.

The dinner continued with light conversation, and the stewards reappeared as necessary to tend to the drinks. Signost and Pelgrath both relaxed and enjoyed their meals, but Shilla seemed distracted. Finally, he leaned behind the Prime Minster and tapped Branmal on the shoulder.

"Sir," he whispered. "I've been observing the Sub-commander. She has barely eaten a single bite!"

"Perhaps I should ask if she would like something else, then?"

"Yes," Deen whispered. "That would be acceptable, but..."

"But what?"

"If a matriarch is dissatisfied with a meal, a certain, ah, cleansing ritual must be performed..."

"What kind of ritual?"

Covering his mouth, Shilla leaned in closer, and Pelgrath's eyes grew wide.

"Are you certain?" he whispered loudly.

"Keep your voice down, sir," he warned. "And yes, I am certain...But the thing is, the Prime Minister has to perform it."

Branmal stretched and craned his neck.

"I could really use a smoke," he said to himself, then he turned back to Deen.

"And just why does the Prime- ?"

"Because," he interrupted. "He is the senior!"

Pelgrath nodded and sighed. He took the pad from Shilla, then he paused for a moment before turning and leaning towards Relin. He held up his hand and whispered into his ear, and the Prime Minister looked shocked, but Branmal con- tinued and showed him the details on the data pad. Finally, he pointed towards T'Pol and handed him the pad for reference.

Relin took it and slowly stood up. He placed his napkin down gently and cleared his throat, then he walked over and stopped opposite of T'Pol. He bowed, deeply, then he peeked at the pad again.

"Trei fol d'lach, uhh..." he stammered. "Ren bill al da fr doch!"

Signost leaned forward and tapped his hands flatly three times, then, without hesitation, he swept his arm across the table and launched T'Pol's plate a good ten meters. It landed with a delicate crash, and the pieces scattered.

The Prime Minister promptly clapped his hands together once and presented his palms, then he bowed again, deeply, and smiled.

Archer, whose mouth had finally closed, opened it again as he started to stand.

"Now wait just a- !"

T'Pol quickly grabbed his wrist.

"It's alright, Captain."

The Prime Minister looked worried, and he consulted the data pad again.

"I hope I didn't do anything out of order," he apologized.

T'Pol blinked.

"No," she said. "That was...adequate."

Relin relaxed somewhat and resumed his smile.

"May we offer you something else, Sub-commander?"

T'Pol thought for a moment then nodded cordially.

"Some tea, perhaps."

Shilla, who had been listening closely, grabbed a steward by the arm and hastened him away. Signost bowed again, then he went to confer with his Secretary, as the three Humans carefully leaned in and whispered to one another.

"Does anyone know what that was all about?" Archer fumed.

"I guess it was another one of their rituals," Hoshi whispered.

"If that were true," T'Pol said quietly. "Why would the Prime Minister need to refer to his data pad?"

"I don't know," Hoshi guessed. "Maybe he just got elected?"

"Well, whatever the reason," Archer furrowed, adjusting his robe. "I don't like it. I respect alien cultures, but I'm not real happy about continually having to...participate in them."

"Nor I," T'Pol said quietly. "But we have to remember what we are here for, Captain. We need the dilithium. We cannot continue our mission for much longer without it."

Archer frowned and nodded, then he glanced at Hoshi, but she just looked at him and offered a slight shrug.

After a few more minutes, the steward returned with a tray full of stately mugs.

Shilla followed him to T'Pol's seat and spoke. "Sub-commander, here is a selection of our finest teas," he bowed. "I hope that you will find one to your liking."

She briefly considered the smoldering cups and selected the lightest of the group.

"An excellent choice, Madam Sub-commander!"

She thanked him and faked a sip, and the diners finished their fowl.

Sometime later, the servers cleared the empty plates and brought desert. T'Pol eyed the small orange-colored dish with suspicion, then, much to Shilla's relief, she picked up her spoon and nibbled.

At long last, the candles burned low, and the dinner wound down. Finally, Captain Archer adjusted his robe again and stood.

"We want to thank you for your...generous hospitality," he smiled. "We enjoyed both the dinner and the...reenactment, and we hope that we can return the favor some time soon."

Archer bowed, then he cleared his throat and stifled a pace.

"Now," he said, grasping the back of his chair. "If it's...appropriate, perhaps we can go somewhere and discuss business."

Secretary Pelgrath nodded graciously and rose to his feet.

"By all means!" he chimed, then he bowed and gestured.

Everyone stood, and he ushered the guests through the rear doors and down the hall towards his office. Along the way, Shilla informed the Prime Minister of the Humans' negotiating customs, and he stressed the importance of the opening ceremony.

"Are you absolutely certain?" Relin gasped. "I mean really!"

"Sir," he said. "This information comes directly from the data file which came attached to their communiqu."

"But it seems so...absurd!"

"I agree, sir," he said. "But it is their custom. They would be greatly offended if the ritual was not performed."

"Does Branmal know about it?" Signost asked.

"I don't think so..."

"Then I imagine he'll be in for quite a shock!"

"I'll try to warn him, sir," Deen said.

* * *

After a short time, the party reached Pelgrath's office. Shilla slipped past the guests and whispered into the Secretary's ear. Branmal at first seemed quite stunned, then he simply sighed and nodded, after which, he took a longing look at his top desk drawer.

There was a brief, awkward silence, before the Prime Minister finally spoke. "We are very much honoured to now open discussions regarding the potential of future trade between our two great worlds!" he boomed.

He glanced down at the data pad, then he approached T'Pol, where he bowed politely, before clearing his throat.

"Chin lub ti ramplo gustov!" he smiled, then he promptly stomped her foot.

T'Pol let out a cry and hopped gracefully on one leg; Archer, on the other hand, blew a fuse and staggered forward. He grabbed the Prime Minister by the seams of his vest and nearly pulled him off the ground.

"The hell with you and your customs!" he spat. "I don't give a damn how bad we need dilithium, I'm not just gonna stand around and watch while you continually abuse my people!"

"Our customs?" Relin said to Archer's vein. "B-But I thought..."

Branmal and Deen both looked at each other.

"Excuse me," Deen interrupted. "But did you say that you needed dilithium?"

Archer slowly released his grip on the Prime Minister and stared at Shilla; Shilla stared back. They continued to stare, motionless. The whole group, in fact, stood motionless, as if they were frozen, which, in fact, they were.

Suddenly, from the corner of the room, a light flashed, and two beings appeared from nowhere. They walked in and amongst the frozen party, laughing in amusement.

"I have to hand it to you—you really seem to be catching on nicely! I especially enjoyed that bit about the plate, and the foot-thing? Simply genius!"

"I learned from the best..."

"Oh, you flatter me!"

"Listen, I have another idea...Let's go back and, instead of putting the Vulcan in a white robe, let's try to get her to wear a...bright, pink tutu!"

"Absolutely magnificent! I can't stomach those stodgy Vulcans with all their self-serving logic!"

"I thought you might like it!"

"You devil, Q! How absurdly delicious!"

"Thank you, Q!"


	3. Et Tu, Tutu?

Archer, arms crossed, stared out the window of his ready room.

"Computer record," he ordered. The computer beeped.

"Captain's Star Log, supplemental. We are scheduled to arrive shortly at Lius, where we will establish first contact and hopefully pick up some much needed supplies. Our sources have said that the...Liusians are a warrior race, and as per the usual, they are also easily offended. We will have to take great care in our dealings with them, as our situation has become—"

The door chimed, and he turned.

"Computer pause," he said. "Come."

The door whisked open, and Hoshi stepped inside. She hesitated, as if reluctant to speak.

"What is it, Hoshi?"

"Travis says that we're about an hour away from Lius," she twitched.

Archer puzzled.

"Fine," he said. "Is that all?"

"No, sir," she said, pointing to her padd. "The Liusians sent a data file with their last message..."

"Alright," he coaxed. "What does it say?"

"It has to do with their customs," she said slowly. "They insist that we follow a certain...dress code."

Archer closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"How bad is it?" he asked. "No wait, let me guess...We're supposed to wear white robes."

"How did you know that?" Hoshi chirped.

"Beats me," he said. "Seems like...Never mind."

"Sir?"

"Never mind," he repeated. "So it's white robes...Well, I guess it could be worse."

Hoshi hemmed and fidgeted in place.

"I suppose...there's something else?" Archer sighed.

"Well, actually, sir, we're wearing the white robes," she qualified, "as in, 'you and me'."

"I don't follow you."

"I think it's best if I just let you read it," Hoshi said, then she carefully set the padd on his desk and quickly left.

Archer pondered her prancing ponytail for a moment, then the door closed. He ambled to the table and craned his neck, glancing down at the padd. He read it, then he read it again, then he read it a third time and furrowed. He paced for a few minutes, then he went and sat at his desk, where he picked up the padd and read it a fourth time. Finally, he tapped his fingers and stared off at nothing for a while, then he reached and pressed the comm button.

"Um...Archer to...T'Pol"

Shortly, the door chimed. He answered, and T'Pol came inside. He glanced at her, briefly, then he looked away and handed her the padd. She took it and read it, then she read it again, then she read it a third time before speaking.

"Perhaps you should ask Ensign Sato," she said flatly.

"Well, I would," Archer said, standing up, "but the...honor...belongs to the senior female."

T'Pol blinked.

"Then I suggest you promote her," she said flatly.

"Unfortunately, that won't work either," Archer grimaced. "They've already seen our pictures, and they know our ranks."

T'Pol stared.

"Now, I won't- I can't order you to do this," he paced. "But I'm sure you're aware of our...situation. We've been in the Expanse for months now, and our supplies are running...uhh..."

T'Pol stared.

"I had hoped that Star Fleet would have figured out some way to send us something," he paced. "But apparently, they're still working on it."

T'Pol stared.

Finally, Archer stopped and forced himself to look her in the eye.

"You...know how much we need dilithium," he said quietly.

T'Pol glared.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the turbolift door opened, and Commander Tucker dashed onto the bridge.

"He in there?" he thumbed.

Hoshi nodded grimly.

Trip hurried to the ready room and found the captain leaning on his window sill, gazing outwards.

"Shuttle pod's ready," he thumbed. "Did you talk to 'em?"

Archer nodded as he turned around. He walked to his desk and sat down heavily in his chair, then he looked up at Trip.

"Yep," he puffed. "I just spoke with, uh, Undersecretary Shilla. He gave us the landing coordinates."

"So, whatda they look like?" Trip asked. "Bumpy foreheads?"

"No," Archer said. "No...They look fairly normal," then he thought for a moment and added, "Their chins seem a little small, though."

Trip raised his eyebrows and nodded, then he thumbed again.

"Hey, what's up with T'Pol?" he asked. "I saw her a few minutes ago, and she wouldn't even speak to me."

Archer sucked his teeth. He leaned slowly forward and shoved the padd across the desk.

The commander picked it up and read it, then he read it again, then he read it a third time and giggled.

"Trip," Archer warned.

"I didn't say a thing," he smirked.

The captain started to warn him some more, but the comm sounded.

"Sir," Hoshi said. "The quartermaster just called. He's finished the, uh...Costumes?"

Archer cleared his throat.

"Very good, Ensign," he said. "Go get dressed, then meet us in the shuttle bay. Oh, and inform T'Pol, Archer out."

There was a brief pause, then Hoshi beeped again.

"Sir, I think it's best if—"

"That's an order, Ensign. Archer out."

Trip made a quick and gleeful exit. Archer rolled his eyes, then he grabbed the padd and went to his quarters to don his white robe. After briefly reviewing the protocols, he proceeded to the shuttle bay, where he found Hoshi and Trip standing by the pod.

The captain furrowed.

"What're you doin' here?" he demanded.

Trip shrugged, arms crossed.

"I wouldn't be much of a chief engineer if I didn't personally inspect the shuttle pod before an important mission, now would I?"

Archer eyes narrowed.

"So help me, Trip," he warned, "if you so much as break a smile..."

At that point, the doors to the shuttle bay slid open, and T'Pol, wearing a long, white robe, glided silently into the room. She carefully descended the steps and, upon reaching the bottom, she stopped dead in her tracks. Looking down, she paused for a moment, then she adjusted her robe and moved swiftly towards the others by open hatch.

Trip looked at Archer; Archer looked at T'Pol; T'Pol glared at Trip, then she looked back at Archer.

"I am wearing it," she said coolly, "underneath."

Then she glared at Trip some more.

Trip held up his hands and walked away.

On the brief ride to the planet, Archer focused intently on piloting the shuttle pod, while Hoshi helped T'Pol with her tiara.


	4. Diplomatic Incredulity

The bottoms of Foreign Secretary Pelgrath's leather-soled shoes were slightly worn—a fact which was easily noted, as his feet were on his desk. Leaning back as far as his chair would allow, he was busy studying nothing. His hands were idle with liquor and smoke—the amber mingled quietly with some ice cubes, though the kretek sparked and crackled in complaint.

Prime Minister Signost slouched nearby. His jacket was open, as was his vest, as was the top part of his heavily-starched shirt. His tie hung loosely around his neck. He sighed wearily and sipped some similarly sentimental spirit, then he resumed his observation of the air on the far side of the room.

On a low bench, Undersecretary Shilla sat opposite the two, elbow on knee, cheek on palm. A data pad hung limply in his left hand, and though he was still some- what immaculately dressed, his face looked very tired. Suddenly and without warning, one of his hairs turned quietly gray.

From a distant wall, a noble clock went, "Tick?", and sensing little interest, it shortly answered its own question with, "Tock." The ice in Branmal's drink settled with a gentle clink, and Relin shifted a bit, his chair creaking in response. Footsteps sounded in the hall then quickly faded, as Branmal drew a deep drag. He slowly released a phantom ring and watched it rise silently through the air, growing larger before finally fading away.

"I'm telling you it was the Valoperans," Relin muttered. "Has to be."

He fondled his tumbler, and Branmal pondered the tips of his shoes.

"Now why would the lovely Valoperans do such a thing?" he asked.

"Because of the Guilly Tax," Relin proffered. "They wanted to test to see how desperate we are. Gives them a better bargaining position..."

"I believe that our 'desperation' is no secret," Branmal impassively puffed.

Signost raised a half-hearted eyebrow then sipped his drink.

"The Humans, then?" he wondered. "Or that Vulcan woman...?"

"Why on Lius would she want her foot broken?"

"I don't know," Relin shrugged. "Maybe she's in to that sort of thing..."

Pelgrath slowly shook his head.

"I don't think so," he said. "She didn't appear to be 'in' to much of anything at all..."

"I suppose you have a point."

"Have you considered Westerfield?" the Secretary asked, glancing over. "The election is just six months away."

"That buffoon?" Signost grumped. "He wouldn't have the imagination for such a thing—his people, either."

"I see what you're saying," Branmal nodded, then he raised his voice a bit. "You're being awfully quiet over there, Deen. Who do you think it was?"

Shilla stirred, and raised his data pad. He peered at it with disgust. "I haven't the slightest," he said. "I'm just happy we never got to the closing ceremony."

He shuttered.

"Yes, well."

"Quite."

Just then, the intercom sounded, and Alvina spoke.

"Mr. Secretary," she said. "The press have arrived."

Pelgrath choked and fumbled forward, spilling his drink in the process. He lurched and mashed the button.

"What are you talking about, Alvina? What press?"

"I don't know, sir," she said. "They claim that is was scheduled."

Branmal stared blankly for a moment, then he squinted at Relin, who was busy whistling and studying his fingernails again. With a sigh, he slowly pushed the button.

"Tell them to stand by, won't you?" he said.

"Yes, Mr. Secretary."

"Relin!" he crescendoed.

"I was under the assumption that we would have good news to report!" he defended. "How was I to know that everything would end in disaster?"

Pelgrath looked at him for a moment, then he crushed his kretek in the ashtray. He glanced sheepishly at Undersecretary Shilla.

"Deen," he hemmed. "Would you mind?"

Shilla sighed slightly and slowly got to his feet.

"What should I tell them?"

"I don't know," the Secretary shrugged. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

He gave the two of them a parting glance, then he trudged wearily from the room.

"Good man you've got there, Branmal."

"Absolutely."

They toasted Shilla, then Pelgrath promptly lit another kretek. Signost gave him a disgusted look and shook his head.

"Bran," he scoffed. "Really!"

The Secretary shrugged his eyebrows and blew another smoke ring. Finally, he diplomatically changed the subject.

"It's a shame about the Humans," he said. "They seemed quite affable."

"Yes," Signost agreed. "I hope they won't harbour us any ill-will."

Branmal nodded and sighed.

"I really wish we could have been of more service," he said, then he thought for a moment and added, "Do you think they liked their gifts?"

"Certainly," Relin nodded. "Who wouldn't?"

"I suppose you're right," he said.

"Indeed."


	5. Epilogue: Mixed Results

Commander Tucker stood grinning in the control room overlooking the shuttle bay. The doors were open, and he waited in anticipation. The pod ascended shortly, then he pushed a button and sealed the room. After the shuttle had landed, he pushed another button, and the bay re-pressurized. Finally, the green light flashed, and he scrambled down to the floor. Hands on his hips, he watched as the hatch slowly lifted.

T'Pol backed out gingerly. She was re-dressed in her white robe, though a tuft of pink taffeta peeked out from beneath her collar.

Trip beamed.

"Hey!" he leered. "How'd it go?"

She spun around and glared.

"Uhh...T'Pol?"

"What?" she glared.

"Uhh...Why are you carryin' a chicken?"

"It is not," she glared, "a chicken."

She glared some more, then she limped off towards the stairway.

Trip scratched his head.

"Alrighty..." he mumbled, then he added, "Hey! I like your tiara!"

T'Pol stopped short. She reached and promptly removed it, then she calmly dropped it where she stood. Without looking back, she resumed her limp and left the bay.

Trip puzzled for a moment, then he turned around and bumped into Hoshiâ€”she had a stray lock of hair dangling in her face.

"Hoshi, why're you and T'Pol carryin' chickens?" he asked. "And why was she limpin'?"

"They're Guilly birds," she puffed.

"Fine...So?"

"Look, it's a really long story, sir," she puffed. "I'm sure the captain will explain everything, ok?"

"Suit yourself," he shrugged.

Hoshi puffed again and rustled towards the exit.

Lastly, Archer stepped out and adjusted his robe. He didn't look happy.

Trip crossed his arms and postured. "Cap'ain, what's goin'- ?"

"Shut up, Trip," he said. He gave him the bird and walked off.


	6. Epilogue: Supplemental

Trip looked at the bird.

The bird clucked.

Trip looked up at the captain.

"What the hell'm I supposed to do with this thing?" he hollered.

Archer paused briefly and half-glanced over his shoulder.

"Shut up, Trip."


End file.
